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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989669">Fairshaw Week</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir'>Dragomir</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Body Worship, M/M, Scars, Schmoop, Slice of Life, ropes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:35:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Fairshaw week! Seven days, seven short fics!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fairshaw Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ropes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's Fairshaw week! Bless Laeviss and the Fairshaw Armada for setting this up. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mathias stood on the deck of the Redemption, enjoying the unseasonably good weather. It was almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>- almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> - warm enough to remind him of Stormwind’s usual mild weather, muggy warmth creeping up from Stranglethorn and hot breezes that smelled faintly of ash coming in from the Steppes. This, though, was just warm and rather mild. The usual smell of brine and fish permeated the air, but he had been here long enough that it had become a background item to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What really kept him on the deck instead of taking to the rooftops to explore Boralus in proper lighting, or back to his cabin to sleep for a few hours was the view. Not the one of the harbor - he spent too much time on deck to enjoy that at this point - but the one on the ship in the next berth…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The crew of the Redemption weren’t the only ones taking advantage of the weather to work on things. While the Redemption’s complement of soldiers had their gear spread out on one half of the deck - giving the sailors a wide berth to avoid starting more fights over the precious space - the crew of the Middenwake worked like a swarm of bees, dodging each other with the grace of people born and raised in extremely close quarters. The carpenters were split between hanging off the prow to fix the masthead (damaged by some angry vrykul, according to Fairwind’s report to Cyrus) or the bannisters along the main deck (damaged by cannonfire from some angry pirates, or so Fairwind had complained to him, several times). The rest of the crew were repairing sails, checking in with the quartermaster, or otherwise attending to duties related to keeping the Middenwake inexplicably afloat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That wasn’t what had drawn Mathias’ attention, though, fascinating as the dance was. No, his attention was firmly on the Middenwake’s captain, busy hauling heavy coils of rope up the gangplank with several of his deckhands. He had stripped down to his breeches and had a blue bandanna keeping his hair back - the same bandana he had nicked from Mathas’ cabin a few nights ago, and Mathias hadn’t had the heart to try and get it back - leaving Mathias with a very pleasant view of his well-muscled, tanned, heavily-freckled back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fairwind normally kept his shirt on in public, so Mathias was taking the opportunity to ogle him as much as he liked - and there was quite a bit to admire. The younger man’s muscled back was lightly sheened in sweat, his muscles flexed under the skin as he moved, and Mathis could think of at least half a dozen different things he could do with some silk rope and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> willing and eager Flynn Fairwind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...Maybe he’d bring it up later tonight, when he and Flynn had an hour to themselves.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Day Off (aka Shaw's Competency Kink)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shaw has a competency kink, and right now, Flynn is hitting all his buttons.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter fought me every step of the way. But fuck it, it got written!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Flynn had asked him if he wanted to come somewhere “nice”, Shaw had agreed, only somewhat bemused by the invitation. While he had come to acknowledge that Flynn was very good at what he did - and often very good looking while he did what he was good at - he also knew that Flynn’s idea of “nice” was putting on a clean shirt and heading for Byron’s to get star-eye pie on Tuesdays when he wasn’t working for Cyrus or the Alliance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mathias dressed down for the occasion - while his armor made him feel more secure, it was also recognizable and someone had already tried stabbing him once this week while he had been in Flynn’s company. Although that had apparently been a misunderstanding - according to Flynn - and the would-be mugger had left after a frankly confusing dialogue carried out entirely in what Mathias assumed was either a local dialect or some sort of code. (Flynn had smiled and said it wasn’t that important.) He still had half a dozen knives on his person, a set of lockpicks, and had tucked a single-shot pistol into the waistband of his trousers just in case. Paranoia was a life-saving skill in his line of work, and Flynn attracted trouble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As agreed, Mathias met Flynn outside the Harbormaster’s office. When he reached the last step, he froze. Flynn stood outside the Harbormaster’s office, speaking to a rather statuesque man in black robes shot through with silver. The man hadn’t drawn Mathias’ attention, though - that was reserved entirely for Flynn, who had dressed </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hair had been washed free of salt and the usual grime he accumulated after a week or more at sea and hung neatly around his shoulders. The ragged ends had been trimmed up and his hair curled faintly against his shoulders. He’d even styled his mustache and goatee a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, of course, he was wearing a suit. The clothing had been tailored for him, although where he’d acquired the money for a suit of that quality, Mathias couldn’t say. It didn’t seem to matter in the moment, because all he wanted to do was drag Flynn off to his cabin aboard the Redemption - or, better yet, to Flynn’s cabin and far fewer interruptions - and peel the whole ensemble off him. With his teeth, if necessary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flynn’s face broke into a wide grin as he broke off his conversation with the other man. “Master Shaw! Ahoy!” He lifted a hand in greeting, completely ignoring his conversation partner as the man ducked into the office and out of earshot. “Ready to go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mathias raised an eyebrow. “I suddenly feel underdressed,” he admitted, holding his arm out. “But lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flynn grinned at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an over-eager child. “Come on then!” He led the way through a series of passages built into the seawall that were </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be the sole province of the Harbor Guard, but he had never been one for rules, and the Guard seemed used to his presence - likely they had given up trying to keep him out, and had resorted to just noting his appearances in the log - and they passed through to the Upton Borough exit unmolested and unchallenged. Flynn had shown him the whole network of tunnels throughout Boralus once, and more than a few rooms built into the complex that were unoccupied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, of course, soundproof.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today’s destination was not a soundproofed room underground or a haunt Mathias associated with his lover. Flynn led the way to a cafe Mathias had noted both for the insidious level of pinkness - the Netherlord would have felt at home - and for the incredible level of privacy literally built into the establishment. While he couldn’t kill someone in one of the booths, he could definitely break their hands with no one the wiser.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The host was clearly expecting Flynn, but not Mathias, judging by the slightly raised eyebrows. “Will your guest be ordering for himself, sir, or will you read the menu for him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’ll order for himself,” Flynn replied smoothly. “Is a booth available?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mathias had never equated Flynn with a social chameleon - a useful skill for an intelligence agent, maybe less so for a former pirate - but here he was, sliding seamlessly into the accent and mannerisms of a gentleman who would have been perfectly in place in Upton Borough, nearly indistinguishable from, say, Tandred Proudmoore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d have to figure out a way to get Flynn into more situations like this, just for the pleasure of watching him slide between roles like that. ...Perhaps an opera…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that was a thought for another day, because he was apparently having tea.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shaw did get to help Flynn out of his fancy clothes later, albeit not with his teeth.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Drink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shaw buys Flynn a drink in the wake of the treasury raid.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look, it's just soft. There is coffee. (And there is quite a lot of alcohol in said coffee, but who was Shaw going to tell?)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mathias watched the line of Flynn’s throat as he tipped back his second drink of the night, utterly fascinated by the motion as the younger man guzzled his drink. Either Flynn and temperance had never passed each other in the night, or he had yet to meet a drink he didn’t like. At the moment, Mathias didn’t really care. Fairwind had proven to be a reliable asset and, while Mathias felt he could be a bit less handsy, had been mostly reasonable to work with.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was at least more reasonable to work with than the various Champions, although that wasn’t hard most days.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d invited Flynn out for a drink on his coin, stuttering out - rather uncharacteristically - that it was a reward for the treasury job going so smoothly. He hadn’t been so tongue-tied since he’d been a stripling and Edwin had… The thought was buried immediately, too painful and not what he wanted to think about on a night like this. Tonight was for the company of someone he found enjoyable, if only because Flynn had no ulterior motives or designs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Flynn was, in a word, simple. Oh, he was clever enough, but he had no grand plans and he had no intentions with Mathias beyond the delight he got in needling him. Mathias appreciated that for the fact that Flynn was like that with everyone. It was refreshing, and he hadn’t seen that kind of plain honesty in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sipped sedately at his own drink, half-listening to whatever story the former pirate had launched into once he’d put his mug down. Flynn had recommended a Boralus style coffee when Mathias had asked for a recommendation, and had grinned in delight at being asked at all. The coffee was good, even in the whiskey in it could have been better for what it had cost him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Much like the Kul Tirans, though, the drink was robust and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up plastered before the night was out. Worse things had happened, and he doubted Flynn would let anything happen to him if he did end up drunk. (An embarrassing lack of pants in the morning, perhaps, but nothing more.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You enjoying the coffee, then?” Flynn asked, breaking into Mathias’ thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mathias looked up, one eyebrow raised. Flynn scratched the side of his neck, cheeks flushed a pleasant pink.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Could make you a stronger one, if you like. Uh….y’know. If you...wanted to...come with me? For a nightcap?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds...agreeable.” Mathias returned Flynn’s smile, and wondered if he looked as flushed as the former pirate did.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shaw, remarkably, woke up with his pants still on. His shirt and corset, on the other hand, not so much.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Superstition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The tides come, the tides go, but Old Sawtooth knows where your ship is.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this involves some headcanons of mine, with regards to Kul Tiran freebooters. But put simply, most of them give passing worship to Graal, the Loa of the Deeps. (Or, as they call him, Old Sawtooth.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Flynn ran a hand through his hair, suddenly more nervous than he had any right to be. It wasn’t like he and Shaw were </span>
  <em>
    <span>involved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What kind of coat wanted Dampwick trash, anyways? But…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well. Here he was, heart in his hand - somewhat figuratively, at least - and trying to find a few minutes of Shaw’s precious time. The mainlander had thawed considerably since their first meeting, not that Flynn could really blame him since they hadn’t met under the best circumstances. (He’d just assumed that a spy would be interested in someone who had the skillset a spy would use. And, alright, he’d arranged a bribe to get into Tol Dagor, but still! He’d been sneaky!) But then that treasury job. Shaw had flirted back, practically, and had even taken him out for drinks afterwards. He’d had the horrible Boralus-style coffee the Octopus served, and then he’d had a nightcap. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>stayed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, yes, here Flynn was at the redemption with his heart more or less beating wetly in his hand, trying to talk to Shaw before he shipped out to go raid Dazar’Alor with the rest of the Alliance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What he’d brought with him was….</span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span>...troll in origin. Cyrus knew about the alleged troll in question, and since it was just a Dampwick superstition anyways…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaw was at the map table when Flynn finally gathered up the courage to go up to him, studying a model of the city. Getting into the treasury with three people had been easy, but getting an entire army into Dazar’Alor - and coming back alive to boot - was another matter entirely. So he’d gone to a friend who had a friend who dealt in items of dubious ownership - this one wasn’t illegal, at least. The owner had pawned it, so it was all legal, and it was better not to have stolen items blessed. Bad luck that way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Flynn cleared his throat and held his hand out, palm up to show off the shark fang and abalone necklace he’d acquired. It wasn’t exactly the fanciest bit of jewelry, and no one would accuse him of having spent all his flash on it, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> blessed, and anyways, Tae had always said it was the thought that counted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Erm. So...” He held the necklace out. “It’s...silly, but I-” Flynn rubbed the back of his neck. “You could...wear this. I mean. Just until you get back?” He looked away, feeling rather awkward and silly. “It’s a freebooter superstition, you know? Tide comes, tide goes, but Old Sawtooth knows where your ship is. But wear one of His teeth, and He’ll get you home safe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaw looked at the shark tooth and the shiny abalone flanking it, then up to Flynn’s face. Flynn was fairly certain his face was redder than his hair, but after a tense moment, Shaw took the necklace. He didn’t put it on, but he did at least tuck it into a pouch at his waist, smiling as he clipped it shut to protect the contents.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate the thought, Captain Fairwind.” Shaw was solemn, but there was the faintest trace of a smile around his lips and a glint in his eyes that said he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll make you another Boralus coffee when you get back?” Flynn offered. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>to me</span>
  </em>
  <span> was unsaid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I look forward to it,” Shaw replied, smiling now.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>When Shaw came back, he was wearing the necklace and said it was because he'd lost the pouch it had been in. Flynn was polite enough not to point out that the pouch in question was still on Shaw's belt.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Stealth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You," Mathias said as he turned around, "are completely missing the point of this."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mathias and Flynn play a game in Boralus. Flynn <i>could</i> take it a bit more seriously.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mathias slipped down a side alley, watching for the last twist of a familiar leather coat or a flash of red hair at the far end of the alley. It was a game, to him, to find Flynn as quickly as possible. The man was infuriatingly good at vanishing when Mathias wanted to find him, which he supposed was why the former pirate was so good at it - he enjoyed needling Stormwind’s spymaster to no end.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And, Mathias supposed, he’d encouraged the red-head. At first, it had been amusing and he knew his agents too well to keep his skills in detection sharp by tracking them through unfamiliar territory. Once he’d gotten through to Flynn that the point was to make it </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get caught (because Fairwind seemed to think they were playing an </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely</span>
  </em>
  <span> different game), it had become a genuine challenge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should have known better than to challenge a local with dubious connections. Still, though, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked. Trust Flynn to take a nautical mile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mathias smiled, shaking his head. A noise behind him made him freeze, and then he spasmed as something prodded his spine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You,” Flynn said, voice warm enough that Mathias could see his smile, “are </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad at finding things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you,” Mathias said as he turned around so Flynn could steal a kiss, “are completely missing the point of this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Flynn grinned broadly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nah. I think I’m getting it.” Mathias rolled his eyes, but let Flynn steal another kiss.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Flynn found Mathias five more times, thereby proving the spymaster's point. Flynn just laughed and pointed out that Mathias wasn't protesting too loudly. Which, really, he wasn't.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Flynn doesn't ask about the Legion, and Mathias doesn't ask about Dampwick.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ehhhh.......this one just really didn't want to be written. Six revisions later and I gave up. Have some vague conversations about scars.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mathias twitched as fingers pressed into a scar on his back. He could almost see Flynn’s expression, grey eyes bleeding sympathetic concern. The younger man had always been too understanding, too </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, prying away layers of armor Mathias had built up over the years to protect himself from the world. Too much heartbreak over a short lifetime for one person, he’d told Jorach one night, drunk on the man’s whiskey and recovering from captivity with the Legion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jorach had tucked him into bed with a bucket next to his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That one’s gruesome, mate,” Flynn said, tracing his fingers along the line of the scar. Mathias sighed and slouched a bit, back pressing into Flynn’s fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“An accident,” he replied, voice soft in deference to the late hour. “I ripped my back open sliding down a roof.” Flynn hissed in sympathy, and Mathias felt a mustache brush over the scar a few seconds later as Flynn pressed a kiss to it. The next one was easier, fingers tracing over a series of pockmarks. “An explosion. The Twilight Highlands were...interesting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He propped himself up on his elbows to look at Flynn. As usual, the man had removed his shirt and exactly none of his belts. Despite his state of dress, Mathias could spot a few of his lover’s scars. The mangled tissue on one shoulder was from a gunshot - the one that had ended a mutiny and led Flynn’s friends in Freeport to believing he had died. He nearly had, infection almost taking his arm. A Tidesage had intervened to save Flynn’s arm and life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mathias pressed his fingertips into the bubbly tissue that barely showed over the top of one wide cloth belt. “What’s this one?” he asked, tracing gently over it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Flynn’s expression shuttered immediately and he rolled onto his side, cutting off Mathias’ view of the scar tissue and the faint hint of a tattoo. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Mathias raised an eyebrow. “Really, Mattie. It was...complicated.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mathias nodded, pressing a kiss to Flynn’s freckled shoulder in a silent apology. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Complicated</span>
  </em>
  <span> was reserved for the scars neither of them wanted to speak about - either too fresh or too emotionally charged to be spoken of while sober.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> After a few minutes, Flynn spoke up. “I was about twelve. A job for Cyrus went wrong. Got an infection and kept scratching. Few years later, got another tattoo on top of the scars to cover it up.” He smiled crookedly, mustache fluffed up oddly. “Couple of freebooters saw the first one and hustled me off to get a coverup.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah.” Mathias nodded as if that explained everything. And it did, of course - Mathias didn’t speak of the scars from the Legion, and Flynn didn’t talk about Dampwick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed Flynn’s shoulder again and drew the younger man into his arms, tucking his head under Flynn’s chin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought that was my spot,” Flynn laughed, breaking the odd tension.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shrink a few feet, then you can have it.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To clarify: Flynn was in a situation when he was much younger that involved a tattoo that ended up infected. He doesn't like talking about it. Mathias knows better than to push at this point, and in return, Flynn doesn't prod at Mathias' emotional wounds.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's Flynn's first storm in Stormwind. Mathias is enchanted.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ehhhh....I was honestly going to try for something angsty, and then I started drinking. Have something sweet instead.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mathias sat on a bench wedged under the eaves of his home in Stormwind, a mug of coffee in one hand and a stack of reports balanced on one knee. The rain had been pounding down on the city for the last hour - unusual, but not something concerning - and he had given up on drawing a certain red-head back inside to where it was dry and he could strip the man out of his wet clothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Purely out of interest for Flynn’s health, of course.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up from the report he was perusing and saw Flynn start spinning in a circle, arms outstretched and face turned up to the sky. His hair was plastered to his head, dark with moisture. The white shirt he was wearing was similarly plastered to his skin, translucent and making him all the more appealing. What really drew Mathias’ attention was the smile on Flynn’s face, curious and full of wonder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t the first rainstorm they had been caught in together, but this was the first time it had rained in Stormwind since they had arrived in the wake of a ceasefire. Flynn had been caught in the downpour, glaring wetly in Mathias’ direction as the spymaster laughed at his betrayed expresion, mustache starting to droop under the sudden onslaught of rain. Now, though, he had a look of wonder on his face, as though he’d never seen rain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Matty!” Flynn called, arms dropping back to his sides and pulling his shirt tightly across his chest, outlining his pecs and nipples - rather obscenely and unfairly, in Mathias’ opinion. “It’s never warm in Boralus!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mathias smiled and shook his head fondly, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ll take you to Booty Bay in the summer,” he called back, watching Flynn shove his soaked hair out of his face, still grinning in delight. “You’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>beg</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go back to Kul Tiras then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Flynn laughed, loud and clear, almost ringing across Old Town. “What, and leave you behind, Matty? Never!” He sloshed across the yard, mud squelching around his bare toes until he was under the eaves and dripping water perilously close to Mathias’ paperwork. Mathias shoved him away, gently, and stood up, tucking his paperwork securely under his arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d follow you anywhere, Flynn,”  Mathias replied solemnly. He eyed the younger man somewhat critically. “For now, though, we should go inside and get you dried off.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eager to get me naked already, are you?” Flynn chortled, eyes crinkling at the corners. He pressed a damp kiss to Mathias’ cheek, stubble scratching against the spymaster’s cheek.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mathias rolled his eyes. “Inside, love. I don’t need you catching a cold on me today.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mathias took Flynn to Booty Bay, eventually. Flynn whined the whole time about the oppressive humidity, and Mathias only laughed at him once.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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